"Replica10 - Ice Cold - Kaye, Marilyn" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kaye Marilyn)

"It must be nice to be rich," Tasha sighed. "Ms. Candler, are Jeanine's parents millionaires?"

"The Bryants are wealthy," Nancy acknowledged. "But I don't think Jeanine gets an outrageously huge allowance. Just last month, at a PTA meeting, Mrs. Bryant was asking other parents what they gave their kids every week. She said she didn't want to give Jeanine more than her classmates get."

Amy found that hard to believe. "Well, all I know is that I can't afford a portable CD player on my allowance."

"And all I know," her mother said, "is that you don't need a portable CD player."

"But think of all the money I'm saving you by not going to a professional hairstylist," Amy pressed. "Mom, what's taking so long? Are you cutting one hair at a time?"

"I'm doing the best I can," her mother said. "You don't want me to hack it all off, do you?"

"All this fuss over a normal haircut," Tasha mused.

"Yeah, well, it's not exactly normal hair," Amy reminded her.

Tasha studied her friend. "It's interesting, you know? I mean, your hair looks ordinary."

"Amy's hair is ordinary," Ms. Candler murmured as she made another cut. "But it holds information that could reveal something extraordinary."

"I know, I know," Tasha said. "Amy's DNA, her genetic information. All anyone has to do is stick one hair from Amy's head under a microscope and they'll know what kind of weird genes she has."

"Well, not just anyone," Amy corrected her. "The person would have to be a scientist, right, Mom?"

"Mmm," her mother responded. She was concentrating on Amy's hair.

"Then how come Amy can't go to a regular hair salon?" Tasha asked. "Most hairstylists aren't scientists."

"You know the answer to that, Tasha. There are people out there who want very much to identify Amy as . . . as a unique individual."

"You mean, as a clone," Amy said. Her mother always tried to avoid using that word. Amy used to dislike it too. At first it made her feel completely unnatural. But a clone was what she was, it was what she would always be, and it wasn't a dirty word. The more she used the word, the more comfortable she was with it.

"These people are very well organized," her mother continued. "They have contacts Ч recruits trained to identify genetically engineered humans Ч all over the place. A hairstylist, a postal worker, that boy who delivers our newspaper . . . anyone could be connected with the organization." She stopped cutting Amy's hair and looked at Tasha seriously. "You do understand that, Tasha, don't you? You must never, never tell anyone what you know about Amy."

Amy could see that her best friend was a little offended that Ms. Candler would even suggest such a possibility. "She knows that, Mom," Amy said hastily. "And so does Eric." She grinned. "And for your information, Tasha, may I remind you that my genes are not weird, they're superior."

Tasha grinned back at her. "Yeah, like I could ever forget. You could wring my neck with one hand tied behind your back."

"I think you mean with one finger."

"Amy, keep your head still!" Ms. Candler commanded. "Don't joke, girls, this is serious business."

"No kidding," Tasha said. "Hair is a frame for the face. Changing a hairstyle can change a person's entire look."

"Tasha, I'm not talking about hair," Amy's mother said sharply. Then she sighed. "I'm sorry, Tasha, I don't mean to bark at you. I just don't want to hear either of you making jokes about Amy's condition. Once you stop taking it seriously, you might very well slip up and let someone else in on it." She snipped off some more hair and sighed. "Well, I guess I'm finished."

Amy looked at Tasha anxiously.

"It's okay," Tasha told her.